The Show Must Go On

The shape of my life as I sculpt it.

I tell you the truth over and over again and still
it bends over and back to lie at me.
Past promises have caught up to future hollows.
Will they be fulfilled?

I loved you, stranger, when you first kissed me-
leaping lightly out of the darkness, dancing a random jig of joys
but then... disappearing between smoke and mirrors.
The line crossed from honesty to cruelty is where we play out
our blindfolded hourglass juggling act, catching and releasing
who I wanted to be and who you could have become.

You were calling it love
but i called it fascination
and so, we called it mutual.
You called it hope
i called it hopeless
so we called it love again.
You called it freedom
but i called it sacrifice
so we became territorial.
You called it family
I called it community
so we didn't know what to call him,
for a whole month.

Roots making me restless to find out what it all means,
to everyone, from everywhere.
What's around the corner? What's over the edge? How much can i bear?
You pulled out the chainsaw to help free me.
I dropped some seeds to anchor myself to the future.
I have finally found something to do while they grow.
Keeps me from standing there, from getting cut down.

I ride a unicycle in the show. The greatest show on earth.
On this unicycle, my wheels are made of razor blades and my spokes flicker and speak:
"Love > understanding > communication > contact > stutterings > silence > observation > suspicion > accusations > resentment > hate > denial > anger > guilt > compassion > empathy > realization > love..." and so forth.
I ride on a tight rope, and arrows come flying at me, rebounding off my skin and spokes. I am also made to sing to the melody of a violin missing strings. The squirrel monkey that hides in my hat holds on tight to my hair the whole time. Flaming hoops swoop down & across my well-timed path. I wheel through, towards a lion who awaits his dinner that has been tenderized by arrows and slightly roasted by hoops. As I leap from my cycle, I raise my wooden sword to parry the ninja acrobat sushi chefs flipping out from their cloud-bourne trapezes. The lion reaches out with maw and paw and I must quickly learn to fly if I'm to survive for the next show.
- Little monkey pulls the curtain-
Every night I beg silently: Please don't ask for an encore. My heart teeters and my ego slinks down a sharp thread as the applause dwindles.

My life is shaped by the lights I shine on it, entrust to my synapses and transit through perception. A bio-dynamic hologram emitted from the spinning diamond of my soul.
So, why manifest? Why use a time-line at all?
Being requires an improvised story weaving into other stories to manifest the sheer joy of experiencing the full capacity of the source. Does thinking make this carpet magic or am I just romanticizing our dusty destinies.
If, and, or, but- conjunctions of reason leading me to folly.
What if the shape of my life ressembled chaos?
And what if the shape of our love could ressemble the peaceful patterning of that chaos into a harmonious resonance, echoing across creation, arcing the light softly smoothly
around the universe, sparking soul fires in an infinite dark void crawling with possibilities.


Ron said...

you so rock, my dear. Hope this finds you well

Da said...

Now I know why I love you deeply and widely, from years and foerver ;)

Masharius said...

can relate... demons hereby captured and nicely put to chill behind an ornamented gate of your spoken word